


Best Dressed

by HandsAcrossTheSea



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), SPECTRE (2015), Skyfall (2012)
Genre: Bottom James Bond, Bottom Q, Kilts, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Top James Bond, Top Q
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-09
Updated: 2018-10-10
Packaged: 2019-07-28 12:20:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16241495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HandsAcrossTheSea/pseuds/HandsAcrossTheSea
Summary: Bucking tradition is always the quickest way to liven up the society event of your choice.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Literally no excuse for this piece's existence save for I've wanted to write some 00Q for quite some time now. This is my first time writing this pair so please, be gentle with me.
> 
> And because kilts. Specifically hot men in kilts.

Hefting the key in his pocket always makes James’s heart turn a happy little cartwheel in his chest.

So far as keys go, it’s a fairly unremarkable fob - deliberately non descript, with but a single silver, shiny button that opens but one door.

The front door to Q’s flat, coded to his fingerprint and only his. Q has the matching fob, and the only reason James even has one is because he was afraid James would end up getting fried by the security systems he’s installed. Ones that not even James can bypass, and his understanding of that level of protection, well… it’s safer for him to just have a key to the door rather than try to break in.

That and Q tires of him banging on the door at odd hours of the night and waking the neighbors. It’s a sensible thing to do, really. James only makes a scene when it’s necessary, and nipping in for some of Q’s free time is whenever he can grab it, well, it isn’t something other people need to know about.

There’s also a very important question that James needs to ask him, and he sincerely hopes that it’s not a question that he gets a negative to.

In his left hand he clutches a dress bag from his tailor, only instead of his normal suit, he’s got something a little different this time. 

Which he needs Q to see before he asks his question.

He’s only got two days before he’s off to Lebanon, strictly for observation, intervention to be considered only if necessary. He’s still reading the briefing, and after spending three hours on it this morning, he’d decided that lunch and trip to his tailor was the perfect break. He should have been home by now, but it’s the first relatively free time he’s had in a few days now and alright, yes, he  _ misses  _ Q.

He has to keep himself from pressing the fob button until he’s ten feet from Q’s door, and when he does, it doesn’t open right away.

Another press, and he still doesn’t hear the lock move.

Hm.

James knocks, as politely as he can with it still being audible. It’s entirely possible that Q is in his office, his noise canceling headphones on and deep in some project - or he’s watching porn. Either is entirely likely.

Which might make James’s lunch break all the more worthwhile.

“Q?” James doesn’t want to shout, but he knows he’s home. He tries knocking again, louder this time, and instinct tells him that he might need to use alternate entry.

Right as he’s about to start looking for a way to breach the window outside the sitting room, the door swings open and Q pulls him in by the front of his shirt hurries him inside.

“Stay here,” Q says, and it’s only as James is left standing in the front hall and Q spins on his heel that he realize he’s mostly naked, save for a very minimal pair of powder blue Andrew Christian briefs that James is sure he’s seen before but can’t recall any specific time that he’s seen them.

He’s too busy watching Q’s ass and legs to notice the fire extinguisher he’s hefting and running towards the spare bedroom.

Q disappears, and James’s curiosity increases as to  _ why  _ Q is one, naked, and two, fighting what he hopes isn’t a life threatening situation. He stays put as directed and listens to Q curse rather loudly, and right as he’s about to defy his instructions to try and aid him, Q returns, pushing his glasses up and still wearing nothing but his briefs.

James quirks a smile and watches as Q goes to his sideboard and pours himself a finger of whiskey. “Is everything alright?”

“Quite.” Q pours another drink and this time, doesn’t drain it quite as quickly. “Just a little something that got out of hand. Nothing serious.” 

He gets a second tumbler and pours James a drink as well before settling himself on the arm of the couch and eyeing James like he was fully expecting him to turn up. “As much as I appreciate the sight of your body, is there any correlation between why you were putting a fire out and your trousers being missing?”

“It was either take them off or suffer third degree burns - I opted for the former, obviously. Just a little experiment gone awry, nothing I can’t get back. Just next time I’ll be more careful about where I place my materials.” Q smirks over the rim of his glass, and James watches his throat as he swallows. Heat blossoms further in his belly, and James has never been more glad for a fire in his life.

“Someone like you I thought would be a little more careful handling hazardous objects. I suppose we all do slip up every now and then.”

“I handle you often enough, don’t I?” Q stands and runs his fingers up James’s left arm on his way back to the whiskey bottle. “Another?”

“No, thank you - but I did have a purpose in coming up here other than to ogle you in your underwear.” James sets his glass aside and drapes his bag over the back of the couch, walking up behind Q and embracing him as he’s pouring another drink. He kisses down from behind Q’s right ear, worrying his favorite spot halfway down his neck and feeling Q turn to putty in his arms.

“I’m sure you want my full attention, then.” 

“There’s a ball, the annual Intelligence Service Formal. I’d rather not go alone, especially since I’ve conveniently been out of the country for the last four or so.” James isn’t all that keen on the dance itself - but it’s a good chance to see colleagues, remember those who are no longer with them, and more than anything, fraternize a bit for the sake of keeping things interesting. James doesn’t mind bedding others in the service - but interdepartmental “companionship” when it’s one’s own country isn’t nearly as fun as a foreign operative.

Only this time, James has no intention of taking anyone home but the man currently in his arms - especially in these briefs.

“I’ve heard of it. I didn’t think I was allowed, something about agents only?”

“Formerly, yes - but no longer.” James’s hands are firmly on Q’s hips, waiting for the signal that he’s in the clear and can ravage Q in the best possible fashion. “Would it help your decision if I told you I’d already picked you up a suit?”

James thinks back to the bag laying over the back of the couch, and the clincher is going to be Q seeing what he’s chosen. It’s not his usual tuxedo, but seeing as how it’s the first one he’s attended in a bit, the vain part of him wants to make an impression.

Preferably with his exceptionally handsome quartermaster on his arm. Boyfriend. Lover.

Labels are starting to mean less and less to him these days.

“And what’s in it for me should I agree?”

James leans in as close as he can, breathing against Q’s ear and pressing his groin into his ass. “I’m yours for the taking.”

Q shudders, and James knows he’s as good as agreed. “You drive a rather striking bargain.”

“I always try to sweeten the pot when I can.” James knows he’s not going anywhere until he’s done something about their arousal, for the both of them. “I don’t suppose you’re free for the next twenty minutes, are you?”

“I’m rather afraid my afternoon went up in flames, so I’m all yours.”

James lets Q take another drink, chasing the whiskey with his tongue. Q tastes firey and sweet, and even then those are hardly adequate to describe everything James experiences when he’s got his tongue in his mouth, and he’s not keen on letting go until he’s tasted more.

Q manages to wriggle free and with a look that’s all heat, pulls James towards his bedroom. As of late, James sleeps in this bed far more than his own, so much that he’s worn his own groove in the memory foam. They make it as far as the door well before James is on him again, taking his mouth and rubbing his hard cock through his briefs, cupping his balls and thumbing at the rapidly growing wet patch at the head.

James lets Q push his jacket off, followed by his tie, each motion punctuated by long, lingering kisses that threaten to cross over into being all consuming. Q has his shirt unbuttoned by the time they break apart again, raking his eyes and fingers down his body until he lands on his belt, using it to finish tugging James towards the bed.

“I have to say, I’m rather glad you stopped by - just makes it easier for when I want you later.” Q puts him flat on his back and steps back to slide his briefs down, his cock bobbing in the air once it’s freed. James watches with undivided attention as Q gives himself a few languid strokes, bunching his foreskin up and back before he crawls across the bed to blanket himself over James’s body.

“You think I have all evening to be your sex slave, then?”

Q dips his head, curls falling over his face as he takes James’s bottom lip in between his teeth and sucks on it, swiping his tongue over the flesh before letting him go. “Unless you’d rather have me here with my fingers in my ass, lonely and begging for someone who isn’t coming.”

James growls and flips them, pinning Q’s hands above his head and going for his neck. “Looks as though I’m staying.”

Q moans when James bites his nipples, sucking and teasing them until he’s arching his back, his cock flushed angry red and dripping precome. James kisses down his body, wishing he’d finished undressing before he got here, his own cock trapped by what are becoming increasingly aggravating layers of fabric. He spares himself for the moment, licking and nipping at the skin all around Q’s cock, pulling all of these magnificent, needy sounds out him that James doesn’t fear tiring of. 

“James,  _ please. _ ” Q’s legs are spread wide open for him, and as much as he would love to edge Q with his mouth, both of their needs are becoming more and more insurmountable, and really, it’s not  _ entirely  _ his fault they’re both in this state.

Q really should think twice about answering doors and fighting fires in nothing but annoyingly well fitted, ass-hugging briefs.

James bypasses his cock and pushes up on Q’s legs, raising his ass up enough that he’ll have more than enough room to work. He grabs a pillow and places it under Q, pulling his cheeks apart and taking a moment to simply admire, Q’s hole a gorgeous shade of pink, dusted with dark brown hair around it. Barely a hair on his body, and yet from above his cock and down he’s got more than enough, trapping his delicious scent so well that James has spent a great many happy hours between his legs, making Q beg until he’s pulled the sheets from the corners of the mattress and could come with but a touch.

Today, James doesn’t make him wait too long - and Q cuts him short anyway, pulling him towards his body and  _ demanding  _ his attention.

“Christ, James, you can fucking admire it later.” Q manages to sound just the right amount of put off by James not being there sooner, only to moan loudly as James starts to open him up with his tongue.

James loves this part, working Q up for his cock - which even though, in James’s mind at least isn’t anything terribly special size wise, does require him spending a good long time licking Q out, circling and dipping and tasting, Q’s body inviting him in by measures until the spit is dripping down his chin and the space around Q’s hole is nearly raw from stimulation. The handful of times James has managed to bring Q off just like this remain some of his proudest accomplishments, saving the Queen’s own be damned.

Right as James is changing direction one more time, Q reaches for him and hauls him up the bed, kissing him with hunger, frustrated and wound so tightly it seems his spine is going to snap. James manages to wiggle out of his trouser and underwear in the middle of it, finally, blessedly naked save for his socks and their braces. Q shoves the lube from under the pillow into James’s hand, sucking on James’s tongue and nearly biting through it as James slicks up two fingers and slides them into his ass.

“Are my fingers any better than your own?” The image of Q fucking himself like that makes James’s blood pound loudly in his ears, and he tries to imitate what the Q in his mind’s eye would be doing. He curls his fingers against Q’s prostate, making Q shudder and grit his teeth.

“Keep going and you might convince me of it.” Q wraps his fingers around James’s wrist and makes him step up the pace, locking his mouth with James’s again and kissing him until they can’t anymore, panting for breath and imploring James to hurry with a broken-sounding “ _ fuck, me, darling. _ ”

The seldom used pet name kicks James into action, and he hurriedly slicks his cock up and repositions Q on the pillow, adding another for extra leverage. Q pulls his legs back, gaze boring right into James’s as he fills him up, James’s hands braced on Q’s chest and shoulder.

There is always a moment of quiet, pure bliss as they both adjust to each other’s bodies, no matter who’s on what end; it’s warm and safe and unbreakable, and James treasures it every single time, leaning down to capture the expression on Q’s face from his parted lips. Halfway through that tender exchange he starts to fuck Q properly, ensuring that every thrust of his hips finds that place inside of him, his bare cock deep inside.

Q repeats James’s name over and over again, clinging tightly to him as he’s taken higher and higher, James just barely keeping himself in check through it. Q’s body just  _ does  _ it for him, supple and warm without being imposingly strong, yet still more than enough to take whatever James gives him - and then turn around and give it right back.

“I’m close,” Q warns, and James changes the angle of his thrusts one last time, driving harder into Q than before, chasing his own bliss where it’s hot on the heels of Q’s. Q strokes his cock asynchronous to James’s thrusts, his left hand dug into the meat of James’s bicep.

He squeezes so hard when he comes that his fingernails leave dark marks against James’s skin, pulling James over the edge right behind him. Buried to the hilt, James releases deep inside Q, shuddering with every pulse of his cock. It’s mind scrambling, wonderful,  _ complete,  _ and once he feels the last of his orgasm fade he comes down hard on top of Q, not yet ready to pull out of him.

Q kisses the side of his head and rubs his back, practically purring with satiation. “Like you would let  _ yourself  _ go from being my sex slave, James.”

James huffs a laugh into Q’s shoulder, perfectly content to remain right here with their come fusing them together. “Just because you’re right doesn’t mean you have to say it.”

“You love me all the same, 007.”

And it’s true.

Q lets James lie on top of him for a few more minutes before he decides bodily needs are more important than afterglow, and it’s only with reluctance that James lets him up. “Don’t look so put out, James, I’m not going anywhere.”

“I would follow but my legs are well…”

Q bends down to kiss him before he goes to the bathroom, come leaking down the back of his leg and a hitch in his step.

James makes his own arrangements Q’s discarded briefs, tosses them in the hamper, and milks the last few drops of come out of himself, pulling his foreskin all the way back before he’s satisfied there’s nothing left. Q comes back to him right as he’s looking for his underwear, holding a glass of water that James gladly takes.

“I have all of your equipment arranged for your trip to Lebanon, by the way. All you have to do is check it out and ignore the waiver that says it will all be returned in one piece.” Q offers up a small smile, still naked and sipping his own glass of water. “Unless there’s some way that I can convince you to  _ not  _ ruin my hard work.”

“Depends entirely upon what you’re planning on doing to me later tonight.” James stands up and kisses him, before leading him off towards the living room, both of them still naked. 

“Keep showing off your gorgeous arse and you’ll soon find out.” 

James had intentions of showing Q his get up for the ball, but kissing him with quickly renewing passion is far more important. Kissing Q with clothes on is wonderful, but kissing him naked after a good, hard fuck? Even better.

Q’s mouth is softer this time, his cock hardening against against James’s thigh. He doesn’t do anything about it right away, leaving his own arousal to build on its own time again.

“I believe I can do that - but I really do want to show you this.” James lets him go and holds up the bag, unzipping it and keeping its contents shielded with his body until he’s got it out fully.

“Oh?”

James turns around and presents Q with a brand new, green tartan dress kilt, holding it up and for Q to see. “I hope that you’re not opposed to it.”

“On the contrary, James, I can honestly say that I’m  _ honored. _ ”

James smiles as Q takes it in hand and runs his fingers over the material, his smile reaching his eyes as he looks up at James, looking, for once, exceptionally humbled. “Do you like it?”

“Very much.” He lays it down, pulling James back to him. “I take it you’ll be wearing much the same?”

“Of course, darling.” Another long kiss, and James’s cock has re-hardened fully. “Shame it’s not another month until the ball, and I’d  _ hate  _ to spoil it before hand.”

“Then we shan’t - but there’s at least thirty nine hours before you have to leave.” Q drops to his knees, kissing along the cut of James’s hips. “Care to see how much we can wreck each other before you run off to save us all again?”

The answer, of course, is yes.

And if the repayment for buying Q kilts is his sweet, perfect mouth, then James has no problem in bringing him as many as he wants.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't quite mean for this chapter to get away from me as much as I did but once I started writing them being sweet with each other, I honestly couldn't stop. So here you are the conclusion of this tale with lots and lots and lots of schmoop because it's 2018 and denying ourselves life's little pleasures is an absurd thing to do. I'm pretty sure it's bad for your health as well.
> 
> I'm going to go out on a limb and assume that The Dorchester has a ballroom, and if not, then I made that little setting up completely. 
> 
> And yes, I very definitely will be writing these two more in the future <3

The mission to Lebanon turns into a nearly month long chase that sees James shot at, tied up, beat up (four times) shot at again, and ultimately ending with a massive warehouse explosion in Johannesburg that pretty much ends the whole movement before it even started to get off the ground. His pursuit? Trailing a group of neo-Nazis, the nasty, racist, murder everyone they don’t approve of sort - people whom the world is significantly better off without.

The sort of people who want to invalidate James’s, Q’s, and many, many other other’s existence. Why they decided to start things near the cradle of Judaism is lost on James, perhaps some sort of cruel poetic justice. 

And yet, even amidst the heat of the mission, all James can really think about is Q. Sometimes he’s in his ear, offering him guidance and information in a voice that’s devoid of any of the warmth that James knows he’s capable of. It’s all strictly professional, taped, nothing there that can’t be archived later once things are debriefed and filed away for the next couple of centuries.

But in the precious little downtime they have, Q does offer him that warmth, even though he’s far, far away and James desperately wishes for the bed in his flat and Q’s soft hair tucked against his chin at night. His mind keeps turning everything over on the long boat ride back to Southampton, what Q means to him, his future, and well, many other things. Of course he’s looking forward to dancing the night away with him (and to seeing Q in a kilt) but what he wants reaches much, much farther beyond that.

He reaches Southampton with just barely enough time to make it back to London, and thank heaven someone up the ladder had the foresight to have a car waiting for him the moment he’s stepped off the boat, bruised and sore in places that, if Q does as Bond wants him to later that night, are going to be hurting for entirely different reasons.

As soon as he’s barrelling towards London, he rings Q, keeping his voice steady when Q picks up on the second ring.

“May I pass on my gratitude on to whomever got my things from Cairo?”

They had been waiting in the trunk, and James had gratefully changed into a fresh shirt and trousers right there in the parking deck. Once they were on, he had finally started to feel more like himself again.

“I believe he already knows.”

_ I missed you. _

_ Me too. _

James lets out a long breath, needing to keep his composure for just a little bit longer. “I only have one request, Q. I’m running a bit later than expected and would appreciate it if you had my razor set out when I get home. I believe it’s still in the top right drawer under the sink.” He drags a hand over the stubble that’s bloomed across his cheeks, and as much as he’d love to be scruffy tonight, he really can’t bear it when his facial hair is in that distractingly itchy stage.

“I suppose that I can find a moment to fulfill that request - right after I’ve ironed your kilt and pressed your jacket.” Q’s teasing him, and James’s heart is already starting to settle back into place.

“The double breasted one, please?”

“Already laid out. And James?”

James doesn’t fight the smile that’s growing on his face. “Yes?”

“I’ll see you soon.” Q’s voice wavers but a little at the end, the only sign that it’s finally okay to let the guard down and for a few days, perhaps, exist as though the world isn’t waiting on them to save it again.

The sun has slipped below the horizon completely when James pulls up into the space outside Q’s building that he’s managed to reserve for himself, taking his bag in one hand and nodding at the doorman as he hurries inside. He absolutely doesn’t bounce in place in the elevator, the smooth whir of its function taking him all the way up to Q’s floor in record time.

When he arrives, the door is already unlocked and before he’s two feet inside, he’s pulled forward into Q’s arms and hugged so tightly that it pushes most of the air out of James’s chest. James drops his bag and hugs him back, burying his fingers in Q’s hair and inhaling his scent, soft and woody and  _ warm. _

“You have precisely six minutes to get ready.” Q lets him go with regret and ushers James towards the bathroom, half-dressed himself and looking positively  _ dashing  _ already. Q notices him starting and swats at James’s behind, chiding him for  _ you can enjoy the view later, I don’t even have the full kit on yet. _

James washes himself as fast as he can, scrubbing hard at the particularly rough spots and with four minutes to spare, steps out of the shower, finding the shaving cream already warmed (he’s keeping Q, truly) and manages to do a decent job of cleaning up, washing off the last of the cream with, by his estimate, forty five seconds to go.

When he steps out into the hallway, deodorant on and teeth brushed, Q’s fully dressed and honestly, nothing really could have prepared James for the sight of Q in full dress, complete with fly plaid over his left shoulder and his sporran neatly in place.

“Q, you-”

“Look ravishing, I know - now  _ hurry. _ ” Q’s vibrating with excitement, even if he is trying his hardest to keep himself under control. “We can ogle each other under ballroom lights all night, now get dressed.”

“I suppose we can, can’t we?”

Bond does as he’s told, stealing glances at Q every few seconds until Q leaves with a mockingly put upon huff, muttering about how  _ they could be on their way now if James would just focus for one minute. _

James doesn’t really see how he can be expected to behave when Q is dressed like  _ that,  _ his hair coiffed and for once in his life, wearing contacts instead of glasses.

Once he’s finished, he feels closer to his Scottish heritage than he has in a very long time, definitely since Skyfall, well…

James doesn’t dwell on it, not with what’s going to be an  _ extremely  _ splendid evening stretching out before him.

Q is waiting for him in the front room, and he wolf whistles at James once he’s stepped out, shoes shiny and jacket hugging his body perfectly. “James, I do believe a kilt suits you, Armani be damned.” Q comes forward and reaches for James’s hips, his fingers curling to form and fit against his skin. “I figure that it would be unfashionable to be the  _ very  _ first ones to arrive, don’t you?”

“Then what’s all this business about me having only six minutes to get ready?”

“Well there was rather something I’d like to do before we go.”

Q finishes leaning in and kisses him, slowly at first, then growing deeper as the distance between them slams closed, the weight of the last month sliding off of James’s shoulders as he finds Q’s tongue, his heart and body curling towards the man in his arms. It’s been far, far too long, and save for the company of his right hand in the few moments he wasn’t chasing Nazis, he very much wishes for things that don’t have anything to do with them dancing all night long.

But it  _ would  _ be a waist for such elegant evening attire to go unnoticed. That, and so far, James actually has no idea of Q’s dancing capabilities.

“Consider that a down payment on the rest of tonight, James.” Q clearly hasn’t forgotten James’s promise to him if he attended, and now that he actually has a moment to think about it, James can’t come up with anything better to put his mind to.

“It’s going to be a struggle to keep my hands to myself on the dance floor, you know that.” James isn’t entirely ashamed of how lust is making his voice crack, but dammit, it’s just been so  _ long. _

“Oh, I have no expectations of you behaving. So long as we aren’t caught, I’m rather looking forward to it.” Q finally starts to lead them towards the door, and James’s heart beats that much faster. “But there is one more thing.”

“Surely you haven’t forgotten to arm the place?”

“Not at all - just don’t let go of me for a moment, would you?”

Q bends down, reaches up under his kilt, and then pulls off the same briefs he was wearing the day James caught him fighting the fire. He tosses them in the general direction of the couch, and with that, offers his arm to James.

“You…”

“Something about being a true Scotsman, right? I thought I’d get the full experience.”

Yes, this evening just became  _ much  _ more difficult to endure.

“I would expect nothing less.” James kisses him one last time, and then pulls Q out of the apartment and into the hallway. “Though I’m afraid I’m already ahead of you.”

“Oh?”

James smirks, ringing for the elevator while looking away from Q. “I never put any on.”

Q does at least deign to look shocked, and James can’t help but kiss a little bit of the consternation from his flushed cheeks.

They do at least manage to keep things respectful on the way to The Dorchester; Q rests his hand on James’s knee while he drives, playing with the hem of his kilt and continually adjusting his sporran to at least try and hide his erection. James doesn’t comment on it, letting their conversation flow around everything but the mission they just finished and their night after the ball - intentions have been signaled more than clearly, and James would much rather let actions take precedence over words. After the hell he’s been through lately, he’s perfectly content to let things take shape organically. 

Though it is rather fun to let his hand slip off the wheel to rub the inside of Q’s thigh just past his knee every few minutes, if anything for the way Q tries to pretend he isn’t squirming with desire. James’s body reacts strongly, his cock throbbing hard and leaking against his leg by the time they reach their destination.

          Q still doesn't give in, and neither does James. Not only are they saving it for later, but both of them are far too stubborn to crack at the first touch. Really takes all the fun out of it.

          “I have to admit, these sorts of events are always a bit overwhelming to me.” Q laces his fingers with James’s, the car at a slow crawl now that they are in line and waiting for the valet service. “Far too many people about, never mind intelligence types.”

        James rubs his thumb over Q’s knuckles, sparing a concerned look in his direction. “You're not claustrophobic, are you?” Now isn't the best time for Q to reveal that, but there have been worse moments to say such things.

        “Hardly. I just feel a touch… out of place. I was always a wallflower at school dances, the last partner picked.” Q looks melancholy for just a moment before softening his expression at James. “Though I suppose I don't have to worry about that tonight, unless you've already got a full card that I don't know about?”

          James chuckles, still inching the car forward. “So long as you are the first and last of the evening, I have a feeling everyone else in between will pale in memory.”

         Q’s grip on his fingers tightens, and truly, how could anyone resist him in his perfectly knotted bowtie?

         There is no announcement of their entrance, no listing of their titles or statuses, just two smartly dressed men checking invitations with neutral looks that could mean anything from pleased to massively disappointed. James hands over their invitations and after they get the nod, are allowed through the massive double doors into the Dorchester’s anachronistic ballroom.

Q’s fingers tighten where they’re wrapped around James’s bicep, gazing in wonder at the scene before him. It’s a bit like stepping back to some Victorian party, a live orchestra providing music, swirls of evening dresses and suits out on the dance floor, and all around them, prospective dancers with drinks in hand, others standing in knots purely for the sake of conversing, informal briefing and undoubtedly, invitations back to darkened flats and houses for the night.

“Breathtaking, isn’t it?” James leads Q towards the steps that lead down onto the main floor of the ballroom, smiling and nodding at people they both know, not in the least bit ashamed to be seen amongst his colleagues with Q on his arm. Q does look a bit overcome with the atmosphere, but it’s not exhaustion on his face, just wonderment. James finds it rather endearing, knowing that he can be so moved by the romance of a grand dance.

“007, glad to see you could make it.” M approaches them, his own tuxedo exceptionally well cut. He shakes both James’s and Q’s hand, smiling in what James sincerely hopes is approval. “Glad to see you in one piece, by the way, I know that was a particularly piece of business you just went through.”

“All in a day’s work, sir. I don’t suppose you’ll need me terribly early tomorrow for debriefing, will you?” 

M’s smile grows microscopically, fixing both James and Q with as close to a warm gaze as they’re ever going to get. “I’m afraid that I’ll be indisposed for at least two days. Something about a card game at Number 10, which I was to extend an invitation in your direction - but it appears that I have no need.”

With that, M disappears, and James chuckles. “You know, the only reason he’s going is so that he can wipe the floor with the Prime Minister.”

“I would have thought that M would have been one of her fans.” Q’s inching them towards the dance floor, and James lets himself be led.

“Not in the least - but it would be impolite if he didn’t go. If you ever get the chance, ask M about his opinion on Brexit.” 

Q laughs, and right as the next song starts, pulls James out into the swirling mass of bodies.

James isn’t terribly surprised to find that Q is a really quite good dancer, light on his feet with just enough give to let James lead - but not by much. It only takes a few minutes to see how their feet work together, navigating a waltz that proves James to be a bit rustier than he thought.

“I’m guessing you didn’t spend all your time holed up in your room at prep school, then?” James leads Q through another turn, the hem of his kilt flaring up to mid thigh as he spins back into his arms.

“I took dance as an extracurricular and found I enjoyed it.” Q follows through on a beautiful slide to the right that makes James feel an extra tug of awe for him, finding that he doesn’t have to worry at all about stepping on his toes. “It was peaceful, freeing, even. I met… well, someone dear to me in that dance class.”

James doesn’t push him for  _ whom  _ it may have been, both of them well aware that there were others before. “I can tell you paid close attention.”

Q smiles at him, his eyes holding a memory so distant that James isn’t going to try and bring it closer. “I can’t exactly say I’m upset about where I’ve ultimately wound up.”

James puts his cheek to Q’s, his voice only just loud enough to be heard over the orchestra. “Me either.”

They dance through five more numbers, trading off to different partners every time. James ends up in the arms of 002, her movements as strong and sure as they were when they tangoed undercover in Buenos Aires a few years ago, smiling and laughing at inside jokes that have lost none of their humor. Q watches them, her chin on his shoulder while he dances with one of the younger MPs on the Defense Committee - James gives him a heated look, one that promises Q the world when they leave.

Q blushes, and quickly refocuses his attention on his partner.

“You’re in love, aren’t you James.” 002 doesn’t sound shocked, or jealous, merely curious.

James continues dancing for a moment, gathering his thoughts before answering. “Madly.”

The realization settles warmly in his stomach, and the itch to touch Q again is near enough to drive him mad. They’re still in the middle of the dance, and James’s view is fleeting through the throng of dancers.

“Is there any other way to be?” She laughs and leans back to look James in the eye. “I never thought that the quiet, technological type was, well, your type, James.”

“Would it be easier to say that I don’t expect anyone to really understand it?” James has come to simply accept that Q is a devastatingly essential part of his life in many, many ways, and that trying to justify them is fruitless - they just  _ are.  _ “I think the one thing we haven’t done is question it, or try to figure out  _ why.  _ But yes, Sylvia, I love him more than I thought I could.”

002 kisses him on the cheek and dances them through to where Q is madly trying to avoid having his toes stepped on by 004; he’s good at a great many things, but the fox trot is not one of them. “Let him go, Aaron, and I’ll show you how to do it properly.” 002 plucks Q from his partner’s arms and replaces him with herself, and James finds himself holding the pleasantly familiar warmth of Q once again.

“I don’t suppose you fancy a drink when this one is over, do you?” Q’s flushed and starting to sweat, and just because kilts are far more open than pants doesn’t mean they aren’t hot. James kisses him chastely, and pulls Q back to him so that they’re chest to chest.

“Make it two.”

The line at the bar is long enough that some of the sweat in the small of James’s back has cooled by the time they get their refreshment, a gin and tonic for James and a beer for Q. They take them up to the second floor, leaning against the railing as they sip and share a moment of repose. Q is so close that James’s arm keeps brushing his, sending sparks racing across his skin even through the layers of his jacket and shirt.

“I take it your fascination with the whole thing hasn’t worn off, has it?” James swirls the ice in his glass, half looking at Q. He has this peaceful look about him, his mind and body completely focused on the night they’re sharing.

“No, not at all - but all I can keep thinking about how I feel somewhat out of touch with all of these beautiful, deadly people. Saving the world, chasing the worst of humanity across the four corners of the earth, and I sit in a basement no one knows about with a laptop and a camera feed.” Q takes a long pull of his beer, captivating James’s attention with the bob of his throat as he drinks.

James leans over and kisses him behind the ear, inhaling the intoxicating scent of his shampoo and body. “You are certainly included in the beautiful part of that statement, and may I remind you that without your help, most of the people in this room would not be alive.” James pulls Q away from the railing and kisses him, drink set aside so that he can cup his face and lick into his mouth, not caring in the least who sees them. 

_ Is there any other way to be? _

Q pulls away from the kiss to draw breath, his eyes still closed. “It’s really very difficult to focus on anything else when you kiss me like that, James.”

“You don’t think I feel the same when you do it to me, Robert?”

Letting Q’s Christian name slip makes the atmosphere around them close in, and the sound of the orchestra and the chatter of colleagues shrinks away to a very distant background. Q rests his forehead against James’s, shaking with what James sincerely hopes isn’t fear. God knows James has let a great many of his defenses slip for the sake of this man, and Q has done the same for him. This isn’t easy territory for either of them, the reasons for which are innumerable, complicated,  _ confusing -  _ but not a single one of them matters right now.

Q swallows, finally looking back up at James and running his fingers over his clean-shaven jaw. “That’s rather mean, using that to wear me down.” Some of the cheek is back in his voice, and James feels the tension leave his body.

“Your own name? I rather like it, but if you want me to call you Q for every occasion I suppose that I can.”

Q rolls his eyes before kissing him again, murmuring “you can call me anything you like.”

It’s some time before they make it down to the dance floor again, and James knows that they are only going to last one more before the urge to feel Q’s naked body against his own becomes impossible to ignore.

Q leads this time, and James rather likes being pulled and bent, the salsa the orchestra strikes up all fire and rhythm. James’s eyes don’t leave Q’s the entire time, the music settling in his bones and sparking the fire of attraction that started before they ever set foot in here tonight.

James gasps when on the last chord, Q’s hands go from his waist to his ass, asserting with a growl  _ this is mine now  _  - and not letting go until the dance floor starts to clear. James can feel his arousal making his blood thunder, every bit of it rushing south at an alarmingly fast rate.

He catches 002’s eyes as he takes Q by the hand and offers her a sincere  _ you were right  _ sort of expression, raising her glass in a toast to the filthy things that are going to occur the moment they step through the door of Q’s flat.

Outside, Bond implores one of the valets to bring the car around quickly, handing him his ticket number and a fifty pound note. The car is brought around in less than two minutes, and the whole time they’re waiting it takes all of James’s willpower to not let Q start ravishing him right there on the sidewalk.

As soon as they’re on the road, Q’s hand is on James’s thigh and sliding his kilt all the way up. “You do know I’m going to lay you out flat and wreck you, right?”

James’s cock hardens further at the note of steel in Q’s voice, already willing to sign over his surrender. “Like I said, Robert, I’m yours for the taking.”

Q squirms and finds James’s cock, stroking him and coating his fingers with precome. “It’s the bloody kilt, James, otherwise I’d be begging for  _ you. _ ” James parts his legs and lets Q roll his balls, thankful for the specially tinted windows - a personal touch from Q himself, most likely. 

“What about it?”

“You look damned incredible in it, and you’re going to keep it on while I fuck you.”

Curses and commands roll so beautifully off of Q’s tongue that James wants to know everything he can do to make him say them ceaselessly, his cock jumping in Q’s hand. Q licks his fingers clean before pulling his own kilt up and stroking himself, biting his lip in such a way that tells James that he’s letting go very quickly of his carefully cultivated reserve.

“Christ, Robert, that’s incredible.” James’s concentration is torn between watching the foreskin of Q’s cock slide up and down his glans and the road, mouth watering for Q’s body to be in as close of proximity to his own as he can get. James grits his teeth and pulls his kilt back down, cock nudging his sporran and stilling Q’s hand where he’s still stroking himself.

Q groans but obeys, instead opting to bring James’s hand to his mouth and sucking on each fingertip. “I do suppose it is rather strange for you to call me Q in bed, isn’t it?”

“Old habit, really - but I’ve gotten so used to it that your actual name sounds like a novelty.” James has to take his hand way or he’s going to have a very large precome stain on his kilt, and his dry cleaner gives him enough questionable looks when he brings in bloody shirts and trousers.

“I rather like how Robert sounds in your mouth - perhaps we’ll have time for you to get used to that one instead.”

Some of the things James had been thinking about earlier return to mind, and it’s all he can do to keep his heart from hammering right out of his chest.

The heavy atmosphere of arousal has reached fever pitch by the time they finally reach Q’s building, pulling each other along towards the elevator - which is of course occupied. James can’t do anything more than grip Q’s hand very, very tightly, forcing a polite smile towards those who think two men dressed to the nines - in kilts - is still something unusual in this part of the world.

James feels like maybe he should find some more respectful way to honor his Scottish heritage, rather than go commando to the Intelligence Services Ball with his unfairly irresistible boyfriend.

The moment they’re in the hallway outside Q’s door, all hell breaks loose and James is slammed up against the wall hard enough that someone is bound to come out and see just what the hell the noise was. James’s moan is cut off by Q’s mouth slotting against his, tongues sliding against each other and hands roaming low. 

James wants so, so much more than dry humping in the hallway, and finally manages to get his fingers into his sporran and around his key, unlocking the door and pulling Q inside until they’re at the foot of the bed.

“Off with these,” Q demands, tugging at James’s jacket and shirt. “Now.”

“Demanding thing,” James smirks, and does as he’s told.

They do retain enough composure so that nothing gets ripped in the process, with cufflinks being set aside and shirts unbuttoned carefully. The moment James is down to just his kilt, however, Q makes a grab for him and kisses him hard enough to bruise James’s lips.

It’s exactly what he needs, and Q gives until he’s out of breath and grinding his hips against James’s, naked against James’s still covered lower body. The friction has Q leaking precome all over the front of his kilt, rutting and rutting until James is on his back on the bed and Q is straddling him.

Q leans down and kisses him with a little more tenderness than before, guiding James’s hands to his hips, fingers running over the sharp cut of his hip bones and ribcage, appreciating the sinewy muscle that James has come to know so intimately. He’s wiry, lanky,  _ lithe,  _ not at all weak as his frame would imply. James leans up to nip at his chest, asserting just enough control to let Q know that this is a privilege, something that  _ only  _ Q gets to enjoy.

James is pushed back and soon after Q is feeding him his cock, the soft  _ holy shit  _ he lets out indication enough as James swallows him whole that he’s doing exactly what Q wants, that in this moment, he can’t mess things up or steer wrong. 

Q’s given him the key to putting himself right again that he didn’t even know he needed, surrendering control and responsibility for just a precious little while. 

“Christ, James, your fucking mouth feels so fucking  _ good. _ ” Q rocks his hips, in, out, in, out, changing speed with how much pressure James gives him. All he can taste is Q, the saltiness of his precome overwhelming and never, ever enough all at the same time. James keeps touching himself through his kilt, finally lifting it up so that he can at least give his cock  _ something,  _ wanting so much more than just the touch of his hand.

With a growl that comes up from somewhere deep inside him, Q pulls his cock out of James’s mouth and kisses him again, taking them both in hand and stroking, spit-slick and perfect. James cants his hips upwards, his hands on Q’s hips and tugging him  _ down. _

“Now who’s being demanding,” Q huffs, only to turn James over a moment later and pull his hips upwards. James buries his face in the pillows, toes curling as Q’s tongue licks that first, incredible stripe over his hole, a sensation that James has missed far too much lately. Q shoves the kilt up his back, adding an extra layer of heat over skin that’s already far too warm. James fists the sheets, having absolutely nothing else to hold onto as Q tortures him, licking and wetting him with excruciating slowness. 

James slips into submission further and further, letting his body go pliant. He can feel his cock leaking steadily, hard against his belly and dripping onto the front of his kilt. Q reaches for his left hand and squeezes, lacing their fingers together for the reassurance that he’s very much there, real and solid and  _ safe. _

Q’s tongue finally stops being enough, and James has to pull what few intact brain cells he has left to feel for the lube and pass it to Q.

“Just like this, Robert.” James  _ needs  _ the detachment, needs to be used and filled and fucked, left with nothing to do but take and feel. Q obliges him with lube being poured over his hole and two fingers quickly sliding in, bending down and draping himself over James’s back to kiss him.

“You know what you do to me, don’t you?” Q fucks his fingers in and out as gently as he can while still opening him up quickly, punctuating each motion of his wrist with a sloppy kiss. 

James’s breath hitches when Q brushes his prostate, unjustly neglected for far, far longer than James cares to think about. “I think the important thing to think about here is what you’re currently  _ not  _ doing.”

It’s as close to begging as James is going to get, and Q removes his fingers just long enough for James to miss them.

“I promise I would never neglect you for  _ quite  _ that long, James.”

Q spreads his ass and sinks in, their bodies molding nearly perfectly together and it’s so, so good, effectively shutting down the rest of James’s thinking capacity. Q gets the same pillows that James used to fuck him before he left, giving them both a better angle to work with. James arches his back, crying into the comforter when Q starts to move and drag his cock against nerve endings that haven’t been lit up in a long while, bursting with sensation and heat.

And the damned kilt is  _ still  _ making him sweat ten times as much as when he’s normally on the bottom, but somehow, it just adds to his pleasure and perfectly trapped state.

Q braces his hands on James’s shoulders as he pumps his hips, sweat dripping from his brow and onto James’s back. James is in heaven, not a thought in his head, just feeling and light and pleasure, blooming and consuming him every time Q’s cock slides back into him. He wants to turn his head and tell Q about it, let him know how good he’s making him feel but Q  _ knows,  _ knew it the moment James raised his hips and offered himself up to Q, trusting him enough to read his body and give him what they both need.

That’s what makes this work, the trust and love that doesn’t need words to justify its existence. James has never given so much of himself as he has to Q, and once he finally accepts he isn’t going to stop, it makes the dam of emotion he’s been trying to hold back all night burst.

He gets loud for Q,  _ Robert,  _ biting the sheets and letting it out, every single feeling and sensation he’s experiencing until he’s on the very edge, body shaking and doused in sweat. 

“I’ve got you James, I fucking promise I’ve got you.” Q changes the angle of his hips one last time and that’s all it takes, three more tags to his prostate and James feels like he implodes, coming all over the bed, his kilt, and himself, followed very shortly by Q spilling deep inside him. It goes on and on, swallowing them both up until Q collapses on top of him, knocking most of the wind from James’s lungs and leaving him feeling blissfully empty and warm.

Q rolls off of him after thirty seconds, grabbing James by the shoulder and maneuvering so that he’s half under him now, fingers buried in his hair and kissing him like he’s drowning. James gives back as best he can, cradling Q in his arms and only pulling away when he can no longer breathe.

And yet, he still can’t seem to stop.

“You’re not as clever as you think, by the way.” Q’s got a teasing lilt to his voice - but it’s softened by his fingernails dragging across James’s scalp in irregular, slow figures. “It took me a bit to figure it out, but James, I’m very much onto you.”

“In what way, darling?” He has to at least pretend to recall whatever Q’s on about, his mind still foggy with pleasure.

“The kilts - that’s Bond tartan.”

James covers for himself by nuzzling at Q’s ear. “And would you rather have worn Bedford tartan?”

“I’m not Scottish - but you, James - if you’re asking what I think you’re asking, I think you already know the answer.” Q’s fingers move to stroke over James’s chin and cheeks, smiling so widely that James feels his heart grow two sizes.

“If you look good in Bond tartan? Yes, you do. In fact, I’d like to see you in it permanently, if that’s what you want.” James can’t resist another kiss, and Q finally gets James on top of him, the kilt still clinging to the both of them.

Q sighs happily, whispering in James’s ear as James nibbles his lobe. “I’d like nothing more - which leaves just one more question.”

“Anything, darling, ask and I’ll give it to you.”

James isn’t in the least bit startled by how much he means that.

“How soon can we  _ make  _ it permanent?”

James moves so that he can look down into Q’s eyes, his  _ husband to be.  _ “Depends on Moneypenny - we will need a witness and she’s the only person I can think of that I would want there. If she’s free tomorrow, say, one o’clock?”

Q accepts in the form of another long, sweet kiss, and James can honestly say that he’s never been so glad to wear a kilt before in his life.


End file.
